Midsummer at Eyre Hall: Book Three Eyre Hall Trilogy

by Luccia Gray

I sat, poured my tea and asked her what was happening at Eyre Hall.

  “I’ve received a letter from Annette this morning. It would seem that Jane and Michael have disappeared.”

  “Disappeared, you say?” asked her husband. “How can two people disappear in England?”

  “Jane was taken to an asylum.”

  Mr. Greenwood and I both looked questioningly at Adele. Surely Jane couldn’t be in an asylum, could she?

  “Apparently the archbishop, acting according to John’s instructions, had her locked in a lunatic asylum.”

  Well, she had been behaving extravagantly in the last few months. Spending freely, renovating the house, parading my brother as if he were her trophy. I wasn’t surprised her son had tried to put a stop to it.

  “And my brother?”

  “Annette says your brother was held prisoner at Eyre Hall, but he escaped, broke into the asylum and freed Jane.”

  I was shocked. What was my brother doing, risking his life for her? “My brother is madder than she is. That’s against the law. He could be hanged.”

  “They travelled to Wales to stay with her cousin Mary and Mr. Wharton. Michael promised Admiral Fitzjames that he would join the navy again and leave England, and the Wharton’s would take Jane back to Eyre Hall,” said Adele.

  “So they’re not getting married? Well, that’s good news.”

  Adele sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. I was against the wedding too, but they wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  “You’re both wrong there,” said Mr. Greenwood. “I had to elope with my first wife, as you know. Her family wouldn’t have me. When two people are in love the way we were, and they are, you can’t stop them. It’s like trying to stem the tide. Their love goes deeper than the Sirens go, underneath the tides. They love each other with a voice that makes no sound, because only they can hear it. Only death will keep them apart, and even then, ‘I shall but love thee better after death’.”

  “You must write me a beautiful poem like that one, William,” said Adele, batting her eyelids. Did she have any idea how ridiculous she looked?

  “I have written many beautiful poems for you, my love.” He smiled mischievously, but she dismissed him with a huff and a wave of her hand.

  “Anyway, I hadn’t finished telling you what happened. They’ve disappeared again, without a trace. Nobody knows where they are,” said Adele. “When they find them, Jane will go back to the asylum and Michael will go to prison. So, unless they leave the country, which they may well do, they’re ruined.”

  “My brother should never have proposed without John’s permission.”

  The thought of seeing my brother behind bars filled me with disgust. What would people think of me when they found out my brother was a criminal? It was hard enough to earn people’s respect, but with such a scandal, it would be impossible. I shuddered. And all because of their lust. I had to find a way of keeping my irresponsible brother out of prison.

  “Have you had any news from your brother, Susan?”

  “None. I am so sorry for his behaviour. My brother isn’t like that. He’s not himself since he left the navy and returned to Eyre Hall. I don’t know what’s come over him. I wish I could speak to him and convince him to stop this madness.”

  “It’s a dreadful situation, for all of us,” said Adele. “John is out of his mind with worry, and so is Annette, and the archbishop has practically taken over the running of Eyre Hall. Annette says neither the archbishop nor John have any idea of how to run the estate or the hall. They’ve closed the new wing because they say it’s too expensive to run and they no longer need the rooms. The archbishop wants to destroy it, because he says it was their den of sin.

  “Jane and Michael had started repairing the tenants’ lodgings and renovating the stables and livestock, but the archbishop has put an end to it, and there are constant complaints. Mr. Jackson had agreed to buy some of the land to extend his mills, but John wants to renegotiate the price. He thinks Jane was selling cheaply to get quick money. Mr. Briggs is too old to help, and although Mr. Smythe has told them it’s a fair price, they’re ignoring his suggestions.”

  Adele chewed a piece of cake slowly while we waited for her to continue. “It’s all wrong. Jane was so clever at running the estate. She saw to it that the children had pencils and textbooks, that the church organ was tuned, that the thatched roofs were repaired, and that the bills were paid and the accounts balanced. The Rochester Estate was her life. Even when she was ill, she never neglected it. Mr. Smythe always said she was a better negotiator and proprietor than any man he knew.”

  “Mrs. Mason is an extraordinary woman indeed,” said Mr. Greenwood. “She certainly ran the estate, Eyre Hall, and the family with great efficiency. She was a splendid matriarch.”

  Adele put Annette’s letter back in the envelope. “Until she fell in love with Michael, you mean.”

  “Can’t be helped now, can it?” he replied.

  “You’re right of course. She more than ran it, she cared about it, and everyone who lived there. The archbishop is ruining John’s legacy. He’s even reduced our allowance. He says there’s no money, because Jane ruined it. I spoke to Mr. Smythe only yesterday regarding the issue, and he says it’s not true. Jane had everything under control. According to him, it’s the archbishop and John who don’t know what they’re doing, and I’m sure he’s right. John never showed any interest in running the estate, and I’d guess the archbishop isn’t any the wiser.”

  “We need to find Jane, Adele, and try to reach an agreement with John,” said her husband.

  “That’s out of the question,” replied Adele. “If I could contact her, I’d tell her to keep away for the moment. John’s threatened to have her locked up again.”

  “They need to sit down and talk. I’m sure they can sort something out. She’s his mother, for God’s sake. He used to adore her.”

  “John is very stubborn, and he… well, I’m sorry to say this, Susan, but he hates Michael.”

  “I hate Michael too, at this moment. I hate them both. We are all suffering due to their impulsive actions.”

  “I don’t know what we could possibly do,” said Adele. “Have some more tea and cake, Susan, it’s delicious.”

  I took a piece of cake and refilled my teacup while Mr. Greenwood stroked his beard absently.

  “Strange, someone at the club mentioned Mr. Dickens had discovered a new author, a woman called Mrs. Stewart. She writes about life in a lunatic asylum in Yorkshire. Apparently it’s causing a sensation. They say at the club that the writer isn’t a new author at all. They say it’s James Elliott writing with another pseudonym. Isn’t that the pseudonym Jane used to publish her novels?”

  Adele clapped her hands. “Yes it is, William. That must be Jane, and Mr. Dickens may know where she is. We must ask him and find out where she’s hiding. We may be able to mediate between her and John. He can’t be serious about locking her away again.”

  She poured herself some more tea and pushed some more cake into her greedy mouth. I never understood why she didn’t put on weight with all the food she ate. “This cake is delicious,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Cook must have taught Beth how to make it.”

  She poured herself yet another cup of tea. “Poor Jane, I’ve heard those places are quite dreadful.”

  “We’ll have to do something soon, Adele,” said Mr. Greenwood. “I’m keeping two families with my meagre income. Dante is still earning very little with his sketches and paintings, and Susan will have yet another mouth to feed soon. We need your allowance, Adele, and Jane was sending Susan and Dante money, too, which has also been discontinued.”

  We had been counting on the money Jane was sending us, because Dante was earning next to nothing. “Mr. Greenwood, Dante is working hard. He’s in his studio day and night preparing the summer exhibition.”

  “I have no doubt Dante will be a successful painter, but he’s too inexperienced. He needs time, and we need to supplement our income
, the sooner the better,” said Mr. Greenwood.

  Adele sighed. “Don’t scold Susan. It’s not her fault. I wish they would all come to their senses.”

  I finished my tea, made an excuse and left at once, but I didn’t go home. I took a cab to the corner from Tavistock Street into Wellington Street in Covent Garden, the office where Mr. Dickens published his periodical All The Year Round. I knew because Jane and Michael had taken us to lunch with Mr. Dickens at Rules, and as we walked down Maiden Lane, he pointed to his offices and said to Jane, “One day you will write a serialised novel, which I will be proud to publish.” Jane had looked at my brother lustfully and said, “I’m too busy preparing my marriage at the moment to think of anything else, Mr. Dickens.”

  I was so disgusted I wanted to leave at once, but by then we had arrived outside Rules, and Dante mentioned it was the best restaurant in the world and was so excited that I didn’t want to spoil it for him, so I was forced to watch her entice my brother in public in a most shameless way.

  There was someone who hated Jane more than her son, and that was me. I would never forgive her for transforming my beloved brother into her lap dog. I descended the cab and wondered what I could say to Mr. Dickens if he were there. I’d plead that I needed Jane’s address in order to speak to my brother. I put on my most modest smile and addressed the clerk at the desk.

  “Good day. I would like to speak to Mr. Dickens.”

  “I’m afraid he’s touring Ireland. He won’t be returning until the end of March. May I inquire what your business is, madam?”

  “It’s regarding Mrs. Stewart.”

  “Of course, have you come for the letter? They said someone would come to collect it today. Mr. Dickens didn’t want it to be sent by postal mail.”

  I nodded and he looked through his bits of paper. “Here it is.” He handed me an envelope. I looked at the address, Mrs. Stewart, Primrose Cottage, Saint Ives, Cornwall. “It’s her payment due for the first six instalments of The Asylum. It’s a fabulous novel. Is she a friend of yours?”

  I returned the envelope. “I’m afraid I haven’t come for the letter. It was Mr. Dickens I needed to speak to. I’ll return later when he’s back.”

  “Who shall I tell him came?”

  “Mrs. Greenwood. He’ll know who I am.”

  As soon as I heard the name Mrs. Stewart, I knew it was Jane. I was furious at my brother for using my mother’s maiden name. I wished I could knock some sense into him. In any case, it had led me directly to where they were.

  When I arrived home Dante was still painting in his studio in the attic, and he didn’t like to be interrupted, so I went straight to my writing desk and penned a letter to John Rochester, the person who I felt closest to, because we both hated Jane.

  Dear Mr. Rochester,

  I am writing this letter to beg you to forgive my brother for having eloped with your mother. I do not wish to exculpate him of his guilt, but as you must have realised, he has been blinded by your mother’s persistence and infatuation. He was weak, but he should not be made to suffer for it unjustly. I know where they are, and I will gladly tell you where it is if you can guarantee that my brother will not be imprisoned. He is my only living relative. In return, I promise that he will stay away from your mother and Eyre Hall, even if I have to keep him a prisoner in my London house.

  Yours sincerely,

  Mrs. Susan Greenwood

  ***

  Chapter XIV – Stairway to Heaven

  “You’re Blains’ friend. Michael isn’t it?” She was a pretty girl, trying to do her job, so I smiled and nodded.

  I was waiting for Blains at the King’s Arms on an unusually quiet night. He wanted to tell me about a job at his uncle’s fishery. I had arrived early and there weren’t many customers in the public house yet. There were two young men reading a pamphlet at the counter, and a few other men sitting at a long table by the window drinking ale and making a great deal of noise.

  “My name’s Nancy. Nancy Butler.”

  “Nancy, I’m busy.”

  “Don’t look like you’re busy to me.”

  “I’m waiting for my friend.”

  “Perhaps you need to let off some steam until he arrives. I’m game if you are. You can ride me all you like.”

  “I’m not interested, Nancy. Be a good girl and find someone else to oblige.”

  “If you like I’ll scream your name, or if you prefer, just gag me, and watch me squirm and struggle.”

  I should have ignored her. I should have walked out and waited for Blains at the door, but I didn’t. She put her hands on my shoulder and rubbed herself against me, and my instincts took over.

  I threw my hands around her throat and pinned her to the wall. “Have I given you any reason to believe I’d be interested in the likes of you?”

  I felt a thump on my shoulder and hands pulling my arms. I pushed the girl away, turned and raised my fist, ready to strike whoever was nearest. There were four of them. They had moved a few feet backwards and stared at me with angry, bloodshot eyes.

  “What’s the problem, gentlemen?” Blains’ steady voice broke the silence.

  “He can screw her if he likes, but he can’t hit her,” said one of them.

  “I wasn’t going to hit her, and much less touch her. I was trying to tell her to leave me alone!”

  “What’s wrong with my Nancy?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Nancy,” said Blains. “My friend isn’t looking for a woman tonight. He’s waiting for me.”

  “No one snubs my Nancy!”

  “My wife is waiting for me,” I said.

  “Your wife! That strange, little woman who never goes out or speaks to us lesser folk.” I walked towards him, but Blains held me back and the man continued. “The one who teaches fancy French to the kids who ain’t got no jobs and are at the school?”

  “Don’t speak about my wife. Don’t even mention her!”

  “Well, Mr. de Winter seems to be fit to speak to her. He visited the school yesterday morning. Ain’t never done that before. I wonder why. I guess he wanted to meet the new French teacher.” He laughed and his friends followed his lead. “Perhaps he’d like some private classes.”

  “That’s enough.” I looked at Blains. “I’m not leaving until he’s swallowed his words. It’s the only way.” He nodded. We had fought together for six months at sea. We knew when we could avoid a fight and when we had to thrash an opponent to gain his respect. These inexperienced drunkards were no match for either of us.

  Blains put his hand on the spokesman’s shoulder and looked at his friends. “Let’s settle this once and for all gentlemen. We like coming here for an ale.” He put his hand on my shoulder too, so I faced the other man. “This is the deal. My friend and you, a fair fight. You win, he spends the night with Nancy. You lose, we go home and Nancy doesn’t bother him anymore.”

  “And you’ll never mention my wife in this public house again,” I added.

  “Deal?” Blains asked him. He looked me up and down. I knew I could break his neck easily if I lost control.

  He nodded. I whispered in Blains’ ear, “Don’t let me kill him. I don’t give a damn, but Jane likes living here.”

  “Then we better put a limit to it,” Blains replied. He turned to the crowd that had gathered and said in a loud voice, “The first one on the floor for ten seconds loses.”

  The man nodded and Blains drew an imaginary circle around us with his arms. “Let’s make a ring for the fighters. No breaking up the fight, no interfering, and no betting. This is going to be short and sweet. The first man whose head touches the floor and stays there for ten seconds loses the bet. They shake hands and the matter’s solved. Agreed?”

  We both nodded.

  “Gentlemen, take your coats off.” We obliged and faced each other. “One, two, three. The fight may begin.”

  The man stooped towards his boots and pulled out a long shiny blade.

  “No knives!” shouted Blains.

>   “Too late. The fight’s started,” he answered. “You should have said so before.”

  ****

  I was sitting at my writing desk when I heard Michael’s horse arrive. I rushed to the door and sighed when I felt his arms around my waist and his breath on my cheek.

  “You look beautiful, Jane.”

  I closed my eyes and smiled as I buried my face in his chest. “Michael, it’s late.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you upset?”

  “No. I was lonely and worried, that’s all. Shirley left before nightfall. She had to help her mother with the baking.”

  He smelled clean and I didn’t recognise the trousers he was wearing. I wondered why he had washed and changed before coming home. I shivered, imagining a woman touching him. Perhaps he had tired of my indifference. I felt myself stiffen.

  “Where have you been?”

  “With Blains, at the King’s Arms.”

  I stepped back and looked at him more closely. His face was bruised and I noticed he limped as he moved to the couch.

  “You’ve been in a fight?”

  “There was some trouble at the pub.”

  “Oh Michael. Are you all right?” I knelt by his side and ran my hands up his arms and chest, looking for wounds.

  “My thigh. I was stabbed.”

  I held him tightly and cried quietly. Would we have to leave again?

  “It was nothing. I stopped at Blains’ to clean up. I didn’t want you to see my torn clothes and bloody leg.”

  “Did you hurt him?”

  “Not much. He’ll have to learn to drink with his left hand for a while. We didn’t even fight. I threw him on the floor, and then I had to break his right arm, because he wouldn’t drop his knife.”

  “Will he want revenge?”

  “I think not.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I could have hurt him badly after breaking his arm, but instead I stopped the fight on the condition that we’d be even. He agreed. Then we had a few more drinks to seal the deal and we left. Blains’ mother cleaned up and bandaged the wound, and Blains gave me some trousers.”

  “Is it very deep?”

  “No, it’s just a scratch.”